


Held Dear

by thesignsofserbia



Series: Held [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry John, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Father Figure Lestrade, Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Gen, He can't seem to catch a break, I hate the title so much but it goes with the other one, John has anger issues, Lestrade is torn, Love Confessions, M/M, No Mary, Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, Poor Lestrade, Post-Reichenbach, Protective Lestrade, Reunions, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes Returns after Reichenbach, Sherlock fucked up, Sorry Mary, The 'Held' Series, They have a bit of a Domestic, You guys asked for this sequel, so dont complain about the tooth rotting ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 22:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4239852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesignsofserbia/pseuds/thesignsofserbia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John holds Sherlock accountable for his actions, Greg tries to hold it together, and Sherlock…he might be about to lose everything he holds dear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Held Dear

**Author's Note:**

> By popular request: The Fix-It sequel to 'Held Accountable', I recommend you read that first. I actually had no intention of writing a sequel, I don't think I'm a sequel type of person. And yet...here we are.

 

 

Incessant banging.

  
Greg’s morning is off to a good start.

  
After the night he’s had, if it’s someone soliciting, he swears to god, he’ll lose it. Greg feels like his world has shifted on its axis, it’s weird how drastically everything can change in a few hours.

  
He notices that the guest bedroom has been shunned in favour of a blanket nest on the sofa, but Sherlock himself has typically vanished at the first scent of social interaction, the prat. But in this case it’s actually warranted. It’s important that he keep a low profile to try and avoid causing a full scale media circus.

  
Greg Lestrade staggers to the front door and pulls it open blearily.

  
“Is he here?” Is the blunt greeting.

  
He’s come face to face with John Watson. Now he’s not so sure, perhaps some door-to-door salesman would have been preferable, even the Jehovah’s Witness are looking pretty good right now, certainly safer.

  
“John what are you doing? It’s 6am,” Greg decides to play innocent, maybe that way they can avoid a major blow up.

  
“Aren’t you working today?” John is seriously keyed up, and Greg thinks that’s fair enough, but of course it’s going to be down to him to keep the peace.

  
“It’s my day off,” which is sort of true, it is now anyway.

  
“Since when do you get leisure time?” John asks suspiciously, and it’s phrased as an accusation.

  
John’s not buying it and Greg’s in deep shit.

  
“Er…” He never was good at being put on the spot. His ex-wife always said he was a shit liar.

  
“I fucking knew it! He _is_ here, isn’t he?”

  
Well, at least he tried.

  
Greg is in an awkward position now; his loyalties torn. On one hand he didn’t want John anywhere near Sherlock right now, especially when he was not quite 100%, for whatever reason. Normally he'd never think to say it but today...today Greg doesn’t think John is above kicking a man when he's down…as long as that man's name is Sherlock Holmes, and Greg feels the urge to protect him.

  
On the other hand... Sherlock was a grown man who was perfectly capable of defending himself, plus Greg knew exactly how John felt, Sherlock wasn’t innocent by any definition of the word and he’d put John through hell.

  
Greg knew that they needed to work this out somehow, so a confrontation had to happen eventually, he just really wished they didn’t have to do it _here_. They could have at least had the decency to wait until he’d had his morning coffee first.

  
“Okay, look,” Greg dropped the pretence and held his palms up in surrender, trying to stall until he worked out what to do. John was furious at him for lying and siding with Sherlock, but Sherlock had come seeking his help when he had nowhere else to go. It was a catch 22 and he just couldn’t win.

  
“I admit that I may have-“

  
One day Greg might actually catch a break, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen today.

  
“Where is he?” John growls, not letting him finish (but it’s not like Greg knew what he was going to say anyway), and he’s starting to worry that John’s patience will run out and he’ll just force his way in.

  
“John,” Greg says warningly, trying to get him to calm down. He didn’t sign up for this.

  
“Don’t ‘John’ me! What the hell are you doing Greg? Why are you defending him?! You’re not telling me you’re on _his_ side now? After everything he did? He can’t even remember your first name!”

  
It’s too early to be shouting like that and Greg looks nervously down the open air hallway of his block of flats, worried about the neighbours. The last thing they need is for someone to call the police on them; John is murderous, Sherlock’s not even supposed to be alive, and Greg _is_ the bloody police. How’s that going to look?

  
“I’m not taking anyone’s side, I was just-”

  
“-allowing me to borrow his sofa for the night,” a deep baritone finishes Greg’s sentence for him as Sherlock finally steps in, having ghosted to Greg’s side.

  
Thank god, he’s off the hook. Even though he’d been half hoping Sherlock's sense of self preservation had  finally engaged, and he'd opted to bail out of the back window, at least John’s probably not going to deck him now, though he might slug Sherlock instead.

  
John’s face turns stony, and he’s clenching his fist so tightly the knuckles of his left hand have gone white. Greg doesn’t envy Sherlock one bit.

  
Sherlock himself doesn’t really seem all that daunted by the prospect of facing John’s wrath and boldly steps out from beside Greg to face John with a level gaze. Good on him too, Greg’s not entirely sure if he’d have had the guts to do that if he was in the same position, because he can see the soldier in John now, as clear as day. John’s accustomed to violence, he’s damn pissed, and he has to admit it’s a bit disconcerting. John’s scary when he’s mad.

  
“I believe we have some things we need to discuss,” Sherlock proposes guardedly.

  
“No,” John counters;

  
“ _We_ aren’t going to discuss anything, because there is no _we_. This is happening my way for once, so shut your mouth and listen. This is what’s going to happen; you get one chance to explain yourself and one chance only. If I don’t think it’s good enough then that’s it; I’m done, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll drop it and let it die, because if you don’t, _I promise you_ ; you’ll regret it. Clear?”

  
John’s eyes are cold and unyielding.

  
Greg swallows, overly conscious of being caught in the middle.

  
Sherlock is holding John’s gaze very seriously and Greg can feel the air positively vibrating between them, how on earth did he manage to get himself caught up in this mess?

  
“Very well.” Sherlock agrees.

  
The tension is pretty high, and there is a lot at stake here. As he watches John march away with measured steps, Sherlock throws an uncertain look back at him before trailing after, and Greg sincerely hopes that they can reconcile with one another because he honestly can’t imagine what will happen if they don’t.

 

~

 

Sherlock stands in front of John, arms spread wide. They’ve been having it out in the alley at the back of Lestrade’s building for nearly an hour now and it has been draining, he doesn’t want to fight with John.

  
He’s explained how he’d survived and that he’d had no choice, he’s revealed carefully chosen bits and pieces of his activities from the past two years, enough to satisfy John without sharing the more gruesome or personal details just yet.

  
For some reason though, when he went to tell him about Moriarty’s snipers and the targets painted on their heads…he stopped. He couldn’t do it. Because to tell John that he’d saved John’s life just before John makes a big decision about the future of their friendship would be a manipulation. He had been told repeatedly in the past by John that manipulation was dishonest.

  
The information would surely influence John emotionally, which would interfere with his decision making process, skewing the results in Sherlock’s favour, and that didn’t feel right to him. John had to make up his own mind, anything else would be cheating. So he holds his tongue.

  
“You know I would never deliberately hurt you!” Sherlock throws out in frustration, mid argument, but then almost immediately he freezes at John’s incredulous laugh, he’d spoken without thinking, and he wasn’t sure how to backpedal.

  
“Do I?!” John’s voice has a slightly hysterical edge to it, “What about the last two years then? How do you explain that?”

  
He couldn’t believe Sherlock had actually said that, and apparently Sherlock realised how badly he’d fucked up because he looked chastised.

  
John hated it that the expression on Sherlock’s face was so familiar, he’d once cared about this man more than anything else in the world, and he could recognise and place all of his individual expressions. Right now Sherlock was the spitting image of a moment John remembered well. The same crestfallen look on his face as John had seen on their first case together. Sherlock had snapped at him without thinking that time too; _‘Oh use your imagination!’_ only for his face to fall for a moment at John’s _‘I don’t have to.’_

  
John couldn’t stand that he knew this man so well. He understood how Sherlock’s mind worked better than most people, having spent so much time together John was naturally inclined to sympathise with him, and because he could read everything Sherlock was feeling in his eyes. He had once prided himself on being able to do that, now it was a curse.

  
For a long time, John had felt like the only place he belonged was at Sherlock’s side, and now that he was back it was like breaking a habit, trying not to be dragged back into his orbit. Even now he felt the magnetic pull.

  
He hated that he was angry with Sherlock, but that everything about him brought back good memories. He hated that no matter how much the man deserved it, and no matter how much John wanted to, he _couldn’t_ hate him.

  
Sherlock had wounded him in abandoning him and he’d only wounded John further by coming back, ripping it wide open again.

  
John had even loved this man, had been _in_ love with Sherlock, for a very long time. And the worst part was; he’d only realised it after Sherlock’s death, and that had been truly devastating; to only become aware of it after the fact. He never even realised what could have been, hadn’t known he even wanted it. They’d never had a chance.

  
John would have moved mountains to bring him back. Now he was looking at him, after all this time, after he’d thought he’d lost him forever, and he was hopelessly conflicted.

  
For Sherlock, that performance at Barts had been a lifetime ago. Now it seemed pale in comparison to what he’d been through trying to claw his way back to life. So he’d spoken impulsively and meant it, because to him was true; he _would never_ hurt John. So he didn’t register the slip at first.

  
It had never occurred to him that to say something like that to John right now was really bad form, because it never _did_ , he often missed social cues, but he never worried because he didn’t care, and then he had John as his catch net. But not now.

  
Sherlock’s life had been so busy that his betrayal of John was…not forgotten exactly, but archived to the back of his mind. He’d missed him every day, but hadn’t had a great deal of time to lament that particular sin, so it was much less raw in his memory. Time heals all wounds.

  
For John it was different, he’d had copious time to dwell on it, and nothing else to think about. He’d not had that much going on, being largely unemployed and crippled by depression, so Sherlock’s death had been paramount; a stand out event in his life. As a result of that, it had been nearly impossible to forget, and the pain of his loss had never really gone away.

  
So Sherlock’s statement that he’d never hurt John was a slap in the face, regardless of his initial intentions and he’s kicking himself for being so careless.

  
There’s a ridiculous saying he’s heard being thrown about; ‘the road to hell is paved with good intentions’. But Sherlock has already been. And he has no intention of going back.

 

~

 

At this point, he’s not sure what else he can say. John has been silent for about ten minutes. He was starting to get really anxious now; he has everything to lose and only one opportunity to redeem himself. He’s presented his case, but Sherlock knows he’s on thin ice, and despite his best efforts…it may not be enough.

  
With every moment John says nothing, he can feel his odds of salvation decreasing. Sherlock is desperate to hold onto the possibility of returning to his old life, but it’s slipping through his fingers as easily as smoke.

  
“What do you want from me?” He asks dejectedly, frustrated and feeling like he’s already lost, did he ever have a hope to start with? Perhaps John never intended to forgive him at all, he simply wanted to watch him jump through hoops, destined to fail.

  
“I’m not good at this John. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” He’s willing to face almost any challenge for this.

  
John just stands there seemingly unmoved.

  
“I apologised, I’ve said that I’m sorry for what I put you through,” Sherlock appeals with a slightly frantic streak to his voice.

  
“Yeah,” There’s a pause as John contemplates him with mistrust, “You’ve said that a few times; that you’re sorry for how you made me grieve. But there’s something bugging me. Because I can’t remember you actually mentioning anything about doing it all in the first place, you know; the physical act of faking your death? I don’t think you have. Where’s all the remorse about that I wonder? So the question is; do you truly regret it? Answer me this Sherlock; if you could do it all again, and take back what you did…would you?”

  
John’s voice is confident, he knows that he’s found the flaw in Sherlock’s argument, and now it’s surely over; thus begins the end of their association.

  
He wants this all to stop; it’s playing out like a disaster movie before his eyes. He doesn’t want to hear John say the words.

  
John’s calling the shots on this one; Sherlock doesn’t get to decide his own fate.

  
He can’t give John the answer he wants, because it’d be a lie. So John is going to resent him, but he can’t do anything about that because he can’t explain why he wouldn’t take it back without cheating. Which means that in saving John’s life, he’s unwittingly ensured their estrangement, and it’s just… _not fair_.

  
He wants to scream at the irony of it all, instead he squares his shoulders; unrepentant.

  
“No. I wouldn’t.” he grinds out.

  
“See!?” John yells, violently throwing his arms into the air, “How can you be sorry when you don’t think you’ve done anything wrong?! The worst part is that by now you know _exactly_ how hard it was for me, and yet you’d knowingly put me through it all over again! You’re unbelievable, I’m wasting my breath.”

  
No. This was all _wrong_. He’s starting to get aggravated, and he can’t just sit back and let John rip it all away from him anymore. He thought he could, but he can’t, being passive is really not his forte.

  
Screw this; he’s going to fight for it. If he’s going to fail anyway, he may as well tell him, he might as well try.

  
“Do you think I’m stupid?” He snarls back, “Yes John of course I bloody understand that killing myself in front of you was immoral, I’m not simple! I’m fully aware of the consequences of what I did, I never intended to hurt you; but I did, and I accept that I alone am responsible for that. What _you_ don’t understand that it was unavoidable. You are the only friend I’ve ever had, what motive could I _possibly_ have for causing you unnecessary pain? Contrary to popular belief, I’m actually _not_ that sadistic. So yes! I would do it again exactly the same way; every time. Because in doing so I _saved your life_ , and I will _not_ apologise for that.”

  
His chest is heaving and he’s glaring right back at John, who seems a bit taken aback by Sherlock doing a 180 to defend himself, pulling that ace out of his sleeve, after having been so sure he’d had the moral high ground.

  
John’s not so sure of that now. He looks hurt and confused as Sherlock fills in the rest, giving him the real reason at last. Whether or not John believes it, it was a weight lifted from his back; at least if John rejects him now, then he can find some comfort in John knowing the truth.

  
Sympathetic to the turmoil on John’s face, Sherlock turns down the aggression until it is almost non-existent;

  
“I never imagined that you’d be so affected.”

  
Indeed if he _had_ known how bad the fallout would be at the time, it would have been infinitely harder and he could not say in good conscience that he would have been able to inflict that on John, so it was a good thing he _hadn’t_ known because that could have been the difference between life and death for his blogger.

  
“But…you could have told me. I could have come with you, but you didn’t trust me.” John’s grasping at straws; he doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t really want to stop and consider it because he might think about how he first reacted to Sherlock being alive, and given what he knows now…

  
“It was never a matter of trust,” Sherlock offers a sad smile; “I’m not a machine John.”

  
That seems to be the crux, those words are enough to tip the balance because suddenly John is looking at him like he’s his whole world, like he used to do. After so long, Sherlock hadn’t realised just how much he’s missed that look.

  
“Oh God, of course you’re not Sherlock,” and It does something strange and unpleasant to his chest when John’s voice breaks upon saying his name, “I never should have said that.”

  
John takes the plunge, praying Sherlock will forgive him; he takes two steps to bridge the space between them.

  
John wraps himself around Sherlock in a fierce hug, and he’s assaulted by the familiarity, somehow Sherlock smells exactly the same, he’s dressed the same and John wants to weep with relief, because somehow above all odds, he has him back.

  
Sherlock doesn’t push him away as he’s expecting, and as he certainly deserves, but he doesn’t really hug John back either. Instead he puts his right hand on John’s shoulder awkwardly and then...

  
“I need you.” Sherlock blurts out.

  
“Huh?” John quips into Sherlock’s coat, but Sherlock doesn’t seem to be listening to him; instead he appears impervious, like he’s in a trance.

  
“I’m serious. Not to survive on a day to day basis, granted, but for me to thrive? You’re essential.”

  
Sherlock’s eyes are a bit glazed over and he’s on a roll, so John just stands there with his arms around his waist, content to listen.

  
“I thought that I enjoyed the work before I met you, and I suppose I did, but…I found that having a partner of sorts to share it with was something different entirely. Solving cases, the challenge of a puzzle, the thrill of the chase; it’s all better with you. It won't be nearly as stimulating to return to working cases if you are not with me, I will if I must, but I don't want to do it alone.”

  
John is floored by this admission, especially coming from someone as guarded and closed off as Sherlock. He wants to respond, but suspects that Sherlock is struggling to express himself as it is, plus he appears to have filtered John out so he can get it all out in one go without being interrupted. Dickhead.

  
“You make _me_ better. You fill in where I’m lacking and you keep me grounded. It’s you John; it’s always been you. You have the parts of me that I’m missing; all that empathy, patience and humility. You…”

  
Sherlock’s voice falters for a moment, and John continues to hold him close with bated breath. He’s not sure if this is really happening. But the situation is odd enough; a one sided hug vs an equally one sided monologue in an alley behind a block of flats ridiculously early on a Wednesday morning, that he doesn’t think his brain could make it up if he tried.

  
“You…keep me whole. I need you to remind me of my limits and stop me from being Not Good. When I was away, and you weren’t there; it was… _Very_ Not Good.”

  
Sherlock shivers at the memory, he has to swallow every shred of his pride and make sure John understands, because he never wants to have to do that again, he must somehow convince John to stay. So he struggles, attempting to take that ethereal warmth from the ‘John Room’ in his memory palace and translate it into words, praying to whatever deities that people prayed to that this meant something to John.

  
“Obviously I can survive without you John, but I don’t know what kind of man I’ll be, and…if you’re amenable, I’d prefer never to find out. Having you in my life…I don’t need it; I _want_ it. Above all else. So what I’m trying to say is; don’t go.”

  
John realises that Sherlock still thinks there’s a chance that John will tell him to fuck off, Sherlock is bracing for the possibility that this is goodbye.

  
Sherlock never was that good at deciphering sentiment when he himself was involved. So when he looks down to see John’s verdict, he’s certain that he’s done something wrong, because John is crying. He’s upset, which is very bad, Sherlock hadn’t intended to hurt him more.

  
Well, if Sherlock is an addiction then John will gladly relapse, because life rarely gives out second chances, and John would be a fool not to capitalise on the fact that everything he'd wished for had just materialised before him on a silver platter. Quite frankly, John is tired of missing Sherlock Holmes.

  
“That might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me, but you’re still a bastard.”

  
John had meant it as a jibe, and Sherlock is fairly certain that it was a positive response, but he's still dubious. He's optimistic now, he can see the possibility of hope for them, but he won't be able to relax until John's place in his world has been reestablished unequivocally. He wants John's answer to be straightforward and set in stone, with absolutely not margin for error. Maybe; just maybe, the universe will give them the benefit of the doubt for once. But he has to be prepared for the eventuality that it will not.

  
Sherlock still looks somewhat distressed.

  
So John kisses him.

  
It’s really just a brush of lips, so it hardly qualifies as a proper kiss, but John has been wanting to do that for years. He hadn’t thought he’d ever get the chance, and somehow that almost-kiss feels more significant than any passionate French kiss. Sherlock’s lips are very soft and he’s holding himself very still, trying to process it.

  
John pulls back and is surprised to see that Sherlock’s eyes are closed, so is Sherlock apparently, because they flicker open in confusion, but when they do they’re tender and full of promise. John can’t help his shit-eating grin.

  
“I’m not going to let you go Sherlock; never again. I can't lose you a second time. But,” John adds wryly; “If you’re just playing nice to make me forgive you…then I’ll break your face.”

  
“Sounds fair.” Sherlock deadpans.

  
There is a moment of silence, before they catch each others eye and dissolve into a fit of inappropriate giggling.

  
Everything isn’t solved or perfect by any means and it’s going to be a bit rough until they figure out how to resolve this, but they will.

  
221B Baker Street is going to need a bit of a dusting off, because they’re coming home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I must say, I drew quite a bit of inspiration from series 3, and strangely enough, the hallway scene in the first X-Files movie. Hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
